'Is there any chance,' a third man inquired, 'of Mr. Moreton talking to us reasonably?'
His wife beamed placidly upon them.
'Not one chance in this life,' she assured them. 'If you knew the language poor dear Ned has used about you gentlemen of the Press worrying him down at Lakeside during the last few months, you'd only wonder that he has let you off so lightly.'
'Then perhaps,' Lavendale's acquaintance suggested, 'we'd better be getting along.'
The Hamlin Trio, at the other end of the piazza, suddenly ceased their labours, made a collective bow and disappeared. The newspaper men still lingered, looking longingly at the bolted window. Mrs. Moreton shook her head.
'Just leave him alone for a little time,' she begged. 'He has got a down on you newspaper gentlemen, and the way they worried him down at New Jersey has pretty well driven him crazy. Don't try him any more this morning, if you please,' she persisted. 'It's my belief this little joke he's played on you kept him out of the hospital.'
The silvery-haired old lady, with her earnest eyes and the little quaver in her tone, triumphed. The little company reluctantly dispersed. Lavendale and Suzanne were on the point of following the others when a head was thrust cautiously out of a window on the second storey of the house.
'Has the Press of the United States departed?' Mr. Moreton inquired.
'They've all gone, dear,' his wife called out soothingly.
'Then bring the others in to luncheon,' Mr. Moreton invited.